


My Father's Picture

by LadyPrincePyro



Series: Jumbled Thoughts, Tied With String - (Original Poetry) [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Memories, Military, Original Poetry - Freeform, Photographs, Poetry, SOLDIER - Freeform, father - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPrincePyro/pseuds/LadyPrincePyro
Summary: Love you dad.





	My Father's Picture

I smudge the dust off of your face with a finger,

Wincing at the crease above your hat.

The yellowing of the frozen trees, fading into 

The dog-eared corners of your world.

 

You don’t stand proudly, not like in commercials.

Your weight is pressing onto one foot,

The boot heel half buried in the sand,

With eyes looking into a distance only for you.

 

That chin I know from shaving nicks,

From the cuddles at bedtime

And from laughs at the dinner table,

Is thrust out like a stop sign.

 

Your puffed out chest could stop bullets.

Your jaw is wired tight with discipline.

Across your shoulder is a braid

That isn’t made from my hair.

 

That yellow blazing marker stands out

From the dullness of blue as if 

To say “Look at me! I’m not the same!”

But my eye only glances there.

 

I don’t know your insignia, or that flag.

Those faces about yours are strangers;

Paltry smudges forming a backdrop

To the unfamiliar familiarity.

 

I don’t know anything about planes

Officers, documents, and foreign places.

I don’t comprehend service

And I can’t describe loyal hardship.

 

That blue wrapped about such narrow shoulders,

I don’t see it as the label it is.

I don’t see a title or a piece of your life

Sliced out and set out from the whole.

 

I see only you; the support and beams

The doors, the locks, the bricks

Of my house. Built by your hands, and

Held together by my heart’s sinews.

 

I only see the Father, not the Boy.

I shift those young features, and wrinkle

That smooth flesh with my mind’s hands.

They form a picture I know of.

 

I tear away the honors of that braid, 

Rip off the colors that set you apart, 

Strip down to the essence of something

I can finally relate to.

 

In that picture on the wall, 

Obscured by the dust of living, my face

Presses close as I gaze through the frame.

I don’t see Him. I see You.

**Author's Note:**

> Love you dad.


End file.
